I Know You Like It Too
by apckrfan
Summary: Sara corners Nottingham, trying to figure out why she hid the fact she knew his identity not just from her partner but from Dante at the review board. Set during Parallax 1x01 . FRM for language.


NOTES: Written for LJ community SmallFandomFlsh Prompt #3: Dirty. I've been psyched ever since I heard Witchblade was going to be released on DVD this summer and this prompt got me thinking about the beginning of Sara's somewhat odd dance with Ian throughout the series.

_ /  
"All right. What about this man in black that hit McCartey? Did you happen to see him?" Dante asked._

Sara flashes to Ian kicking a downed Jake unconscious. Another flash to a close up of Ian's eyes. A third flash to Ian sitting on some kind of scaffolding. And lastly, another flash to close up of Ian's eyes. Sara looks over at Jake.

"Answer the question please, Detective!" Dante said, voice rising emphasizing his dark mood.

"I don't know who knocked Jake out, sir," Sara says after swallowing hard.

"Pezzini, you're hiding something. I don't know what it is, but I'm gonna find out," Dante says.  
\\ 

She wasn't entirely surprised she'd been allowed to pass through the gates that led to the Irons' estate. She was sure Irons would have a fit at her Ducati sullying the pristine grounds, but he wasn't here at the moment. Or shouldn't be anyway. After the grilling she'd taken by Dante and still raw from Gallo admitting he'd been the one to kill her father. Well, she needed some answers.

"It's nice to see you, Sara," Nottingham said in that soft spoken, just above a mumble-like voice he seemed to have the patent on.

"You were expecting me?"

He said nothing, merely offered to take her helmet. She slid it out from under her arm effortlessly. She'd done it so many times before and the smoothness of the movement said that clearly.

She didn't even know why she was here. If Dante found out. Hell, if Jake found out. Then again, she didn't owe Jake anything yet. He hadn't proven himself as a partner, though the information he came up had been good so far.

She watched as he set the helmet on a marble-topped table in the entryway. Her helmet just didn't belong here.

"Who am I kidding," she said.

"Are you looking for an answer? You'll need to be more specific if you are."

"I don't belong here," she said, glancing around her. She doubted her entire apartment and all its belongings came to equal the worth of one of the items Kenneth Irons had that so many coveted.

"Nor do I really, but here we are."

"You work for him."

"And now it seems you, too, have a connection to him, Sara. What is your point?"

She met his eyes then. He could kill, she had no doubt of that. He broke laws she'd sworn to uphold, to protect and to serve the good citizens of New York by enforcing those laws. Yet, there was something in his eyes that got to her. She couldn't place it, unlike many things in her life she just dismissed if they were too complicated, she had actually given this one some thought. Whatever it was, it was the reason she had been unable to give Dante the name he sought so vigorously.

She extended her right arm, extending it as if to strike him. It was more of a test, really, to see if the witchblade would extend itself and prepare to go to battle for her. As in the alleyway the other night, it did nothing. Not even a shimmer of power came out of it. It remained merely a bracelet on her wrist.

"I told you it will not work on me," he said almost too soft for her to hear.

She arched an eyebrow, regarding him. She didn't like he could read her so easily. She was a seasoned cop, it was insulting. And unsettling. "Why is that?"

"Because it cannot hurt that which you want to leave unharmed."

She wasn't sure she'd come to that conclusion yet, but there was enough question in her mind that she supposed he had a point. It should bother her she supposed that he seemed to know more about the witchblade than she did. She was the one wearing it after all. Not to mention her heart.

She remembered him looking at it that day at the museum. A week ago. God, it seemed like forever. So much had happened. Danny. God she missed him. The visions or hallucinations only made it hurt worse, because she wanted him there so bad.

She grabbed Ian by the shirtfront and tugged him to her with as much force as she could muster. She worked out and was in good shape. Better than even the 11th Precinct required her to be in. So she was no wimp, not that she got the impression he underestimated her.

His eyes widened and she read the uncertainty there. Unsure if she was going to kill or devour him. He wasn't pretty like Jake, but there was something about him that got under her skin. And she didn't think he was even trying, unlike Jake.

"Are you as good as you look, Nottingham?"

She'd settle for devouring just now. Anything to work this tension off and push the memory of Danny down even if it was only temporary. Her mouth fused over his, needy and forceful. She took the only thing she knew how to right now.

She deepened the kiss when he responded, a little tentatively but a response nonetheless. Her hands dropped from his shirtfront, moving to her leather jacket to maneuver out of it. As with her helmet, the ease with which she did it betrayed the fact she'd done this type of thing a hundred times before.

Hands roamed, his and hers, acclimating themselves to the plains and curves of one another's bodies. As best they could with clothes in the way anyway. If she had her way, the clothes would be gone already, but Nottingham didn't seem to be on the same page.

Typical. Especially the mood she was in.

She needed. Well, she still wasn't sure what she needed, but a raw, dirty fuck up against a wall ought to squelch some of the churning she felt in her gut. Hell, she'd take the stairs, the floor they were standing, or even the chandelier above their heads. Anywhere. She just wanted the tension gone for a while.

She was used to quickies. No ties, no attachments, no phone numbers, and very rarely were names given. Those were her unwritten rules and she stuck to them pretty closely, straying occasionally by giving out her name. Sara Pezzini had little time for anyone or anything. Except the job. R';';v.c,v.c, cmv mRelationships were just a distraction, something that would get her killed or lead to someone else getting used as bait.

Still, she had itches to scratch the same as any other warm blooded man or woman.

And with that thought, she decided it was do or die time. Their tongues were already busy, so she decided to put her hands to work, too. She was wearing too many clothes. He was, too, but he could keep his on for all she cared. All she needed from him is a big enough opening.

Somewhere along the way, she realized their touch was different. Where hers was raw and eager, almost desperate, his was gentle and almost curious. He touched her as if he wanted to memorize her. Cherish came to mind. She tried to push the thought aside. It really didn't matter what he wanted or needed. It was thanks to her he wasn't in jail at the moment. And emotionally detached or not, she'd never had someone walk away from her singing the Mick Jagger blues about getting no satisfaction.

He cupped her breast with his hand and she let out a groan, almost more of a growl really. It had been a really long time now that she thought about it and she was more than primed and ready after the morning she'd had.

"Don't you know any other speed but slow, Nottingham?" She arched into the palm of his hand, grinding her already pebbled tip into him. "Not that I don't appreciate the offer of foreplay, but in case you haven't noticed it isn't necessary this time."

He said nothing, didn't seem to make any effort to change or alter what he was doing. She reached between their bodies, grabbing his crotch through his jeans and gave a squeeze. That, at least, got a reaction out of him. He made a sound, a mix between pleasure and frustration that made her step back.

"Don't I do it for you, Nottingham?"

"You know that is not the case, Sara."

"I don't know anything. I'm here, throwing myself at you, ready to get down and dirty with you right here in your boss' hallway and you act as if we have all the time in the world."

"Don't we?"

"No! I have things to do."

"Then by all means see to them, Sara," he said, sounding entirely too rational.

"You do like women, right?"

He merely rolled his eyes. His eyes again. Everything seemed to lead back to them.

"I cannot give you what you seek in this, Sara. For that I am sorry."

"I just bet you are."

"You will never know how sorry I am."

"Has your master forbidden it or something?"

"My master?"

"Yeah, your boss? Mr. Irons? Because if he thinks I'm going to go for him or something"

He gave a soft laugh. "No."

"So, you just don't want to."

"If that is what you must think to rationalize my behavior then so be it."

"Tell me, Nottingham. This isn't about the witchblade or Gallo. You can drop the cryptic mumbling for two minutes."

"I cannot give you what you need at this time, Sara."

He began circling her then, as he'd done in the alley. His hand brushed along her hair, disheveled now from more than just her motorcycle helmet.

"You want to fuck?" he whispered from behind her against her ear, trailing the skin behind her ear with a fingertip.

"Yes," she said.

She wasn't ashamed to admit it. She was what she was, did what she did. It's not like she picked up guys every night.

"You want to hear how turned on you make me? How I yearn to be inside of you? Thrusting into your most private place?"

Her eyes closed, lips parted and she let out a sharp breath. "Yes," she said again.

"You want me to tell you how I long to slide my fingers deep inside of you. To use my tongue as well, to taste you and feel your muscles quiver as you come."

"God, yes, Nottingham. Enough" She could picture it, too. She wasn't really a visual person. She was definitely an action led to arousal person. God if picturing him didn't do it for her.

"You will come to me, Sara. At some point when it's more than just a meaningless fuck out of desperation, anger, and neediness that has nothing to do with me."

"How did you"

"I just know," he said simply.

"I won't come to you for another reason, Nottingham. This is it, take it or leave it."

"For now, I must decline your offer, as appealing as it is. I cannot give you what you seek. It would not provide you the answers you're after anyway."

He'd done it again, knew what she was thinking, feeling. How did he do that?

"So, you'd rather I go out and find someone else?"

He chuckled then, brushing her hair aside to place a kiss at the nape of her neck. He slid his cheek against her skin there. She shivered at the feeling of the stubble, she'd more than likely have marks on her skin he was just rough enough. She took a deep breath when he got to her ear, kissing that, too.

"You won't find it in someone else either, Sara. In time, you will learn that is the case."

"Why talk like that then?"

He let a hand trace the length of her spine, stroking the small of her back with his fingertips before he stepped away, back to being in front of her.

"It is all I can give you for now. Plant the seeds of how it might be."

She was so out of there. She stooped to pick up her leather jacket, eyes never wavering from his. Her hand was actually shaking. "Damn it," she cursed under her breath. Unsure if it was simply her being aroused or the fact he'd brought her to such a frenzied state with mere words.

She was all for talking like that. She could give as good as she took, too. She'd never had someone do it and then walk away from her, leaving her wanting. She was always the one doing the leaving.

She would leave this time, too.

She forced her hand to steady, grabbing hold of her jacket finally. She slid into it and walked to the marble-topped table, grabbing her helmet. She didn't bother sliding it under her arm this time, merely grabbed a hold of it and left it in her hand.

"I am sorry, Sara," he said to her back.

She paused in the open doorway to look at him again.

"No, Nottingham, I don't think you are, but you will be after I've left," she said simply.

It wasn't what she meant to say. She'd intended to tell him she wasn't going to cover for his ass with her precinct anymore, but the words wouldn't come out.

She took the cement steps that led from the front door to her Ducati. She straddled it, unable to deny she wished it was Nottingham instead. Sliding her helmet over her head, she started the motorcycle, letting the power of the Italian machine take her away from there even before she'd passed through the iron gates.

The End 


End file.
